


Gemma Knows Best

by fleurlb



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:48:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurlb/pseuds/fleurlb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone, with a newborn and a husband in jail. Yeah, Gemma's been there before. So she's in a perfect position to reach out and help Tara. If Tara will let her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gemma Knows Best

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daylightfalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daylightfalls/gifts).



> Special thanks to MissMeggie for the thoughtful idea/characterization beta, excellent advice, and general hand-holding and awesomeness. :)

Gemma knocked on the door and waited, foot tapping impatiently on the step. After a decent interval, she shifted the box in her arms to her left arm, balancing the weight of it on her hip. She fumbled with her keys before she found the right one. She took a deep breath, turned the key, and stepped into Jax's kitchen. 

Filthy Phil was sitting at the kitchen table, his back to the rest of the house, an uncomfortable expression on his face. 

"I wouldn't go in there," he whispered. 

Gemma rolled her eyes and put her box on the counter. "Sparky, you ever want to have a full patch, you're going to have to grow a pair."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he replied.

"It's going to take a lot more than post-natal hormones to scare me away from my new grand baby. I've got this for a while. Why don't you take a break, get lost for a few hours, will you?"

She didn't have to tell him twice. In fact, she was surprised he managed to open the door. She fully expected to find a Phil-shaped hole in the wall as he fled for his life. Gemma pulled herself up to her full height and walked into the rest of the house, following the crying noise back to the baby's room. She found a red-eyed Tara sitting in the rocking chair, a squalling, red-faced Thomas nestled in her arms. Tara was shirtless, her nursing bra open.

"What are you doing here?" asked Tara. If she was going for a challenging tone, she'd missed by several miles. Judging from Tara's face, Gemma doubted she'd had more than a few hours of sleep in the last week. 

"You do know that it's customary for the grandmother to visit her grand baby?" asked Gemma as she plucked the baby from Tara's arms.

Tara grimaced but let Gemma whisk her son away. Gemma cooed at him and cradled him gently. She sat down on the futon and looked up at Tara, who was pulling on one of Jax's flannel shirts and buttoning it up slowly.

"How's it going, mama?"

"How's it look like it's going?"

"Honestly, looks pretty normal for week one with a newborn. Where's Abel?"

Tara yawned. "Aleta took him to the park."

"And how's the breastfeeding going?" 

"It's a nightmare. My milk hasn't come in yet."

Gemma managed to look away from Thomas. Her look was long and searching, the sort of look that John used to call The Investigation Power. "Have you had any sleep since you got home from the hospital?"

"It's kind of hard to sleep when you have one kid crying for food and the other kid crying because he doesn't understand what's going on and it's too noisy for him to sleep."

Gemma swallowed the question that was burning the back of her tongue. _Why haven't you asked for help?_ "Here, take him for a second. I'll be right back."

Gemma went back to the kitchen. She took a platter of individually foil-wrapped lasagnes from the box. She put one in the fridge and then put the rest in the freezer. Then she picked up a flat gold box, an expensive bottle of herbal bubble bath, and a bottle of Belgium beer. She returned to the bedroom and put the gifts on the changing table before she picked up Thomas.

"Here, these are for you. I want you to go have a bath, enjoy the truffles and beer, and just relax, for God's sake. I've got the baby. You need some time to yourself. Feel like a human again."

Tara opened her mouth, like she was going to argue, but thought better of it. "Thank you, but-"

"Just drink the damn beer, Tara. The brewer's yeast is supposed to be good for milk production."

Tara held up her hands in surrender and left the room. 

Gemma settled into the vacated rocking chair and cuddled the baby close to her chest. She nuzzled his head, breathing in the intoxicating scent. Thomas quieted and looked up at her with unfocused eyes.

“Okay, Little Man, I know you're hungry. We're going to take care of that while Mama has her bath. But I'm going to warn you, Mama might not like Gramma's answer. It could get loud, kid,” whispered Gemma. She savored the closeness with the baby, nearly falling back into her memories of when Jax and her Thomas were this age. When they were helpless balls of need that she loved beyond all reason and measure.

Knowing she might not have much time, Gemma reluctantly stood up from the rocking chair and carried Thomas into the kitchen. She found his infant carrier on the kitchen floor and strapped him in. She set him up on the kitchen table, where he could watch the ceiling fan.

Gemma pulled a sterilizer and bottles from the box and set them up on the counter. In minutes, the bottles were ready. She opened box of Enfamil pre-made formula and pulled out a skinny 6-ounce container. When the bottles were sterilized, she took one out, cursing under her breath as the steam burned her fingers. She bit her lip and continued her work, emptying the formula into the bottle. She took Thomas out of the baby carrier and sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. 

“Here goes nothing,” she said with a smile as she eased the nipple into the baby's mouth. His eyes widened in surprise then his little mouth started to work away.

“Careful there, champ. You don't want to make yourself sick. There will be plenty more where this came from, if your mama ever lets me near you again,” Gemma whispered, a watchful eye on the kitchen doorway. 

Thomas drank half the bottle in record time, then Gemma burped him, concerned that the entire contents of his stomach might end up on the kitchen floor. Gemma had forgotten how tedious this part of having a baby was. She sang softly to amuse herself, as much as to quiet the baby, who had become fussy after his big meal. 

After several minutes, she was rewarded with a long, low burp and a little bit of spit-up. She was cleaning up the spit up when Tara came into the kitchen, distractedly drying her hair. 

“Thanks, Gemma, I didn't know how much I needed that.”

She paused to look up and a frown creased her face as she took in the scene in the kitchen. Gemma felt like she'd been caught cheating by a lover. She squared her shoulders and prepared for whatever came next. No matter what happened, no matter how angry Tara got, Gemma knew that she had to keep her cool. Had to be the adult. She couldn't get thrown out of the house, and out her new grandbaby's life.

“What the hell, Gemma? Did you feed him?” demanded Tara as she stalked across the small kitchen and wrested Thomas from Gemma's arms.

Gemma forced her hands to her sides, even though every cell in her body wanted to cling to Thomas. She knew she was in trouble here, serious trouble, maybe even more than she initially figured.

“Tara, sit down, let's talk about this reasonably.”

“There's nothing to talk about, Gemma. We made the decision that this baby would be exclusively breastfed. You didn't respect that decision and you have to leave.” Tara cradled the baby protectively in her arms, her mouth set in a firm, angry line.

Gemma stood up and hoisted her purse onto her shoulder. She knew there was only one way to play this and it went against her fight-instinct, but she'd do anything to remain in that house. 

“Honey, you forget that I know how hard these first six weeks can be. I've been where you are – twice. I was trying to help. You're strung out, exhausted, no milk in yet, the poor kid was starving. Look at him now, he's sleeping.” 

They both looked at the baby. His face was pressed into Tara's side and one little hand clutched a fistful of her shirt. Gemma leaned down and kissed him, then kissed Tara. 

“There's lasagna on the counter and more in the fridge. You need to eat,” said Gemma. She walked to the back door, wishing that the kitchen was bigger, wishing that there were more steps so that Tara would have more time to change her mind. Her door was on the doorknob when Tara's voice broke the silence.

“Gemma, wait.”

She turned back and Tara looked exhausted, conflicted, and just plain miserable. 

“Do you want to stay for lunch?” she finally asked. “We apparently have lasagna.”

Gemma smiled. “I'd be happy to. You go sit down and relax with that baby. I'll make the lunch.”

Tara looked like she might refuse and Gemma bit back the urge to snap at her about graciously accepting help. _Hello, pot, meet kettle_. Tara nodded once and then carried Thomas into the living room. Gemma didn't even realize she'd been holding her breath until she was alone in the kitchen.

It took Gemma less than 15 minutes to put together two plates of lasagna, salad, and garlic bread. She carried them into the living room, where Tara was on the couch, staring absently out the window. Thomas napped serenely in the wicker Moses basket that only months earlier had been used to rescue Abel from Belfast. Gemma surprised a smile, wondering whose sick impulse it had been to keep the basket.

Gemma handed a plate to Tara and then sat down in a chair across from her. Tara mumbled her thanks and was soon scarfing down lasagna like she hadn't eaten in a week, which, Gemma realized, was all too likely.

“Easy there, you don't want to make yourself sick,” said Gemma.

“Sorry, I just didn't realize how hungry I was. Thanks for making and bringing this. It's delicious.”

“You're welcome.”

The two women ate in a silence that wasn't quite companionable but was at least free from most of the tension and acrimony that had recently hung between them. At last, Gemma put down her fork. She knew what she had to do, and she knew that it would cost her pride, but all that mattered was smoothing things over. 

“Tara, I'm sorry that you were upset by the bottle, but it's obvious that he was hungry and desperately needed to eat.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” replied Tara flatly. 

“You know, both my boys were bottle-fed and they turned out just fine,” Gemma said, struggling to keep her voice as even as possible.

“For some definition of fine.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Gemma snapped, her patience at an end.

“One's dead and one's in prison. That's hardly most people's definition of fine.”

Gemma looked away. Sometimes Tara made it too easy. Like a gambler who always threw away the best cards and left her opponents plenty of room to get back in the game.

“Thomas didn't die because I fed him formula,” she finally said.

“Oh god, Gemma, I can't believe I said that.” Tara put down her silverware and pushed her hands through her hair. “I'm sorry. That was completely out of line.”

“You're damn right it was,” replied Gemma, meeting her eye. “But I'll forgive you this once. I know you're not.... in the best place right now.”

Tara looked away, eyes filling with tears. “I just.... I don't know what I'm doing. At all. I knew this would be hard, but not like this. If his stomach was outside his body or his heart had a hole, I'd be able to fix it. But he's hungry, Gemma, the simplest need of all to meet, and I'm not able to do it. My body is failing him. I'm failing him.”

Gemma walked over to Tara, sat down next to her, and pulled her into an embrace. “You're not failing. You're expecting too much of yourself and putting too much pressure on yourself, trying to do everything alone. Giving him a bottle isn't declaring defeat. It's giving yourself a break so you can keep taking care of him.”

“But-”

“No. You've been on an airplane, haven't you?”

Tara pulled away and looked up at Gemma, confusion knitting her brows together. “Yeah.”

“Remember what they tell you about your oxygen mask? Put your own on first before helping others.”

“But Gemma, this isn't even the same thing. I'm his mother. His needs are supposed to come first.”

“And Tara, if you wear yourself down to a useless stub, his needs aren't going to get met either. You have to ask for help. You have to compromise on the bottle. And you have to make sure you're getting some sleep and eating decent meals.”

“I don't want to compromise on the bottle. I want to breastfeed.”

“You can do both, you know. Ain't no law that says you can't.”

“But the books all say that the baby will get nipple confusion if you give bottles before breastfeeding is fully established.”

“Nipple confusion, my ass,” scoffed Gemma. “You ever meet a man who didn't want to be on a breast?” 

Tara smiled weakly and was then silent for several beats. Her gaze dropped to the floor. She sighed and finally conceded. “You're right.”

“You don't have to sound so surprised.” Gemma took Tara's face in her hands and forced her gaze upwards. “I'm here. This is my job – to help look after you all. So just let me, goddammit.”

Tara sniffled, then smiled. “I will.”

“You know, about a week after we got to take Jax home from the hospital, John got picked up on some bogus out-of-date tags rap. It was bullshit – he was passing through a small town and some dumb-ass deputy had seen too many TV shows about bad-ass bikers. John was held for three weeks because we didn't have legal help like we do now.”

“So you were home alone with an infant?” 

“The first three days, I was alone. Then Luann Delaney showed up. The stupid whore,” Gemma smiled fondly and her voice softened, “she pushed her away into my house, grabbed the baby from me and sent me to bed.”

“Luann?” asked Tara, surprised. “She never struck me has having a maternal instinct.”

“She was the oldest of 14 kids, if you can believe that, in some hell-hole tarpaper shack in western Kentucky. She raised more kids before she was 15 than most women do in a lifetime. And she was right – I needed to take care of me and I needed help.”

Tara forced a smile. “I can't imagine you needing help.”

“Everyone does when there's an infant involved.” Gemma stood up. “Now listen to me, Dr. Knowles, you finish your lunch and then I want you to go straight to bed. You sleep as long as you can. I'm going to take care of everything. Abel, Thomas, the house, all of it.”

“Yes, Dr. Gramma, I will,” said Tara, a little bit of her snark and spirit coming back.

“Smart ass,” said Gemma, rolling her eyes even as she was smiling.

\---//---

Later the next day, a refreshed looking Tara came into the living room, where Gemma was holding Thomas while putting together a puzzle with Abel. 

“Good morning,” said Tara.

“Try afternoon,” said Gemma.

Tara blinked. “I haven't been asleep for 14 hours.”

“No,” replied Gemma as she stood up and handed over Thomas. “You've been asleep for nearly 16. You clearly needed it.” 

“Clearly,” mumbled Tara in surprise. She eagerly reached out and pulled Thomas to her body, then grimaced.

“What's wrong?” asked Gemma.

“Feels like my chest is about to explode into fire.”

“And that would be your milk. It's a Christmas miracle. Or common sense.”

“You don't have to be a smart ass.”

Gemma kissed Tara on the cheek. “It's part of my charm. I'm going to go home for a little while. I'll be back for the night shift.”

“You don't have to,” Tara protested.

“I don't, but I will,” replied Gemma with a smile as she hugged Abel. This was where she was supposed to be. She knew it and she was grateful that Tara finally knew it too. 

/fin


End file.
